


Forged In Blood

by Ira_Frost



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Fantasy, I’m not talking about the incest though, M/M, Reunion, Sibling Incest, Supernatural Creatures, fae, handjob, mild violence, taboo relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ira_Frost/pseuds/Ira_Frost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lyre, an Unseelie fae mercenary, finds himself face to face with his twin brother after 300 years of separation, he is tentatively receptive to the idea of family. For the first time in his long life, blood seems to matter.</p><p>But three centuries is a very long time to be apart and the bonds that slot into place between the brothers are misaligned, filled with an intimacy that transcends family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is neither the first story I have written nor the first one I’m publishing but all the others were fanfiction. So this is my first, tentative foray into original fiction. I’m nervous as hell and just as excited. I hope you enjoy this. Feedback would be quite appreciated.
> 
> Please heed the tags!

Later, he would realize that the image he presented upon meeting his twin for the first time in the three hundred or so years they had existed was a far cry from pleasant. But at the moment, drenched head to toe in blood, with his hands covered in clawed gauntlets that still dripped gore, Lyre just wanted a long soak in a hot bath and some solitude to savor the bliss of a successful Hunt. Only sheer shock of realizing the identity of the lithe fae who stood between him and his home stopped him from flinging aside the unexpected visitor in favor of the aforementioned solitude.

Lyre couldn’t explain _how_ he knew the one before him was his brother; it certainly wasn’t through any similarity of appearance. It would be simpler to say that he just knew, with a bone deep surety that unsettled him almost as much as the _Seelie_ magic radiating of the fae.

“Lyre of the Cliffs?”

What a delightfully nervous greeting. The fae looked as shaky as he sounded too. Lyre was glad he never made a habit of bringing his ‘friends’ home. The band would tear this one apart, brother or not. Standing there, wearing his unease like a cloak, he called to each and every one of Lyre’s predatory instincts. And he had quite a number of them, being both Unseelie and a Hunter.

“It seems you know more of me than I do of you, brother-mine.” The Seelie actually took a step back in surprise. Lyre wasn’t sure if it was the mocking address or the growl in his voice. “Do tell me your name.”

“I- Ceithe Silverblade.”

“How lovely,” Lyre drawled and brusquely walked past his brother- the reality of that had not yet sunk in- to his door. It sprung open at his touch and he stepped inside, pausing to say over his shoulder, “Wait inside, if you like. I am in no fit state for company.”

To the other’s credit, he only gaped like a landlocked mermaid for a few seconds before following Lyre. He imagined he wouldn’t be all that put together either if he were in a normal state of mind. Good thing he wasn’t.

“I wouldn’t suggest trying to venture past the drawing room. There are wards in place,” Lyre warned and fled to his bedroom, stripping the instant the door closed behind him. His clothes were miraculously intact though so soaked in blood that they’d have to be burned. Naked, he moved to his bathroom, equipped with human comforts but maintained with magic instead of electricity and whatnot. He cast a longing glance at the bath but ultimately chose the shower. As much as he’d love a relaxed bath, the reality of his brother, his twin, being here, inside his house was a steadily rising pressure in his chest. The gruff composure that had seen him through the perfunctory introductions was fading, leaving him confused and breathless.

Lyre stood under the hot spray for as long as he dared. His efforts to calm himself were only barely successful. By the time he stepped back into his room, he was outwardly composed but his insides were tangled up in tight knots. His heartbeat was too fast. He dressed in a daze, pulling on a pair of drawstring pants and foregoing a shirt as usual. His long hair dripped water along his back.

He hovered indecisively at the door for a minute or so before opening it. His brother- Ceithe- was seated in one of the chairs. He was noticeably calmer than he had been outside, making Lyre wonder how much of that had been the result of his rather wild appearance.

He made his way to the chair opposite his brother, never taking his eyes off the strange fae, riveted by a blend of fascination and suspicion. Lyre had known he had a twin but he had not cared, not truly. Seelie and Unseelie rarely mixed despite there being no laws preventing them mingling. His own Seelie family had abandoned him mere days after his birth when it became clear that he belonged to the wrong alignment. It happened sometimes, Seelie birthing Unseelie and vice versa. It generally spelled trouble for the children involved. His own tale was one of the better ones. And apart from some childish curiosity he grew out of centuries ago, Lyre had little interest in his parents or siblings, even the one he had shared a womb with.

Apparently, the same could not be said for this Ceithe.

For all that they were twins, the two of them looked as different as night and day. Yes, they possessed the same deceptively delicate bone structure, wiry build and pretty, androgynous face. Even the gleaming silver strands of soft metal that lay interspersed with their hair were the same. But Ceithe was all dark hair and eyes whereas Lyre was golden, an exterior that belied what lay under. His own half clothed body contrasted sharply with the other’s collared, full-sleeved formal tunic. Moreover, there was a timidity surrounding Ceithe that would have disgusted Lyre had he ever seen it reflected at him from a mirror.

_Ceithe Silverblade_. Unexpectedly, that name stung even though he had long since accepted that he had no part in his family’s legacy. His own name and reputation he had worked and bled for, and he wore it with pride.

“Why are you here?” Lyre asked bluntly, seeing no need for empty words of greeting.

His brother smiled, an expression devoid of any humor. “I think that is quite obvious. I wish to see my twin brother.”

Lyre raised a brow in blatant disbelief. “You want to tell me that you abruptly developed a desire to see your long lost sibling after _three hundred years_?”

He felt a visceral sense of satisfaction at the way Ceithe flinched at that. The predator in him rumbled in excitement, roused by the waves of uncertainty and anxiety that emanated off the other. Lyre found himself involuntarily eyeing Ceithe’s throat and the pulse that beat strong and fast there. His mind helpfully flashed him images of that slender column collapsing under his hands or being torn to shreds by his teeth. He shuddered with the effort of shoving away those thoughts. It didn’t matter if this visit was welcome or not, he was damned well not going to murder his brother for no reason than that he felt like prey.

“It is not abrupt,” Ceithe was telling him, and he listened with half an ear, physically unable to tear his eyes off his brother’s neck. “I’ve always wanted to meet you, know you. I just never- you know, this conversation would probably proceed more smoothly if you would be so kind as to stop staring at me as if I’m food.”

Startled, Lyre’s eyes snapped to Ceithe’s midnight gaze. Instead of fear or unease, they were full of amusement. He was actually smiling. Well, that was different. Lyre felt an answering twitch of his own lips and did not bother fighting it.

“I apologize,” he said, almost sincere. “I’ve just returned from a Hunt. You could say that my inner predator is close to the surface and it likes you. A little too much.”

“Because I am Seelie?” Ceithe asked with what seemed to be genuine interest, seeming unaffected by the knowledge that Lyre was a Hunter. Perhaps this brother of his wasn’t a complete waste of time then.

“I think it has less to do with you being Seelie than you being, well, you.”

A quiet ‘Ah’ was Ceithe’s response and Lyre was pleased to hear a measure of the previous nervousness in the sound.

“You were saying?” Lyre prompted, firmly keeping his gaze on his brother’s face.

“That my desire to meet you is no sudden impulse. I have thought long and hard about it. Circumstances, however, did not permit any contact with you.”

“Circumstances,” Lyre repeated flatly. It was a rather subtle way of referring to the Unseelie-hating couple that birthed them.

“I, um, yes,” Ceithe shrugged, grimacing. “They did not want me to associate with you because, well, the reason is obvious, isn’t it?” Before Lyre could take offense at that, the other plunged on, his speech acquiring the telltale speed indicative of frayed nerves. “I didn’t want to defy their wishes and so I did not… until now, because no matter what they say, you are still my brother- my twin even- and it’s _wrong_ to pretend that you don’t exist, that we’re not connected merely because we belong to separate alignments. I am sorry that it took me so long to reach out, truly I am.”

For a few moments, Lyre sat unmoving, stunned to silence by the outpouring of words. Ceithe seemed to genuinely mean what he said. His black eyes were wide and earnest on his face, his hands clenched into tight fists on his lap. When Lyre finally recovered, his breath escaped him in a choked little laugh.

“Sentimental fool,” he breathed, looking at the other with wide eyes.

Ceithe smiled again, that amused, lopsided tilt of full lips. “I suppose I am that.”

“I am not good with sentiment,” Lyre sated, still in something of a daze.

“That’s alright, I think.” Ceithe was fidgeting now, squirming around in his seat and plucking distractedly at the metal of his hair. Lyre, on the other hand, was almost frozen. It felt as if he was balancing precariously on the edge of something dark and gaping.

This was turning out to be quite different from what he had been expecting. Not that he even knew precisely what that was. Not this though- definitely not his own burgeoning interest.

“I feel like I should know you,” Ceithe announced into the awkward silence that hung thick and heavy between them. “But I don’t. At all.”

Lyre felt the ridiculous urge to confess how he had known the instant he laid eyes on Ceithe who he was- what _they_ were, or should have been for they were twins in name only and it _should_ be more than that. He beat down that irrational impulse, blaming it on shock and leftover adrenaline and a lot of things that did not even brush upon the reality of it all.

“Would you like to? Know me?” He asked instead and smiled, faint and tentative, at his brother’s answering nod.

No, this was not what he had been expecting at all. But perhaps this was better.

 

* * *

 

Lyre retreated into his forge, shut out the world and let time go on without him.

Peace was not a sensation he often felt. He was content in his existence and more or less happy. He took great pleasure in performing his job as a Hunter- one of the Unseelie Court’s pet mercenaries- but that was a feral sort of joy, wild and exquisite and so very transient. The few fae he called friends were all his comrades, their bonds forged in death and violence, always tempered by the ruthless cunning of the Unseelie. Naturally, little of his life was peaceful.

And then he had _this_.

It was his birthright as a metalmaker. It mattered not that his birth family wanted nothing to do with him. It was what he was born for and what he had been trained in. The very feature that made him Unseelie was tied to his ability to create some of the best blades known to warrior fae- blades that drew power from death and evolved until they acquired a limited measure of sentience and formed a bond with its wielder.

But despite the violence his creations wrought, his forge was the sole place in the world where Lyre found true peace. Here, the outside could not so much as touch him. Time was of no importance. The paltry concerns of life faded until there was only heat and fire and metal.

As always, by the time he emerged, the frantically swirling inferno of thoughts and feelings that began plaguing him the instant his brother left him after that first and only meeting had eased significantly. He could breathe once again.

They had talked a lot and said very little. Lyre had never thought himself one for sentimentality. But family was fundamentally important to fae and his largely solitary life to this point notwithstanding, he had been far from unaffected by the sudden reconciliation. In fact, he still couldn’t quite understand the fierce desire he had felt to _know_ his brother but it had felt natural to be led by that desire, to listen and be listened to. Yet, there had been deliberate lack of substance to their chosen topics. He knew that Ceithe spent most of his time in the human realm and had a strange fascination with modern technology. He knew Ceithe used his affinity for metal to make jewelry whereas Lyre made weaponry. But he knew nothing of his twin’s childhood or subsequent relationship with his parents. He was given no information about the rest of his siblings. And in turn, Lyre had spoken of his own hobbies, his own few jaunts into the human world and several other trivial facts while staying well clear of touchy subjects.

It had been simultaneously awkward and pleasant.

However, he was quite at a loss now. The days he spent forging had helped calm his mind but the confusion still remained. Lyre breathed a heavy sigh and slumped down on his couch. If he had known ‘family’ was this complicated, he’d have…

No, he still would have invited Ceithe in.

And now it left him to figure out the next move.

 

* * *

 

He did not like the human realm.

Objectively speaking, there was nothing wrong with it. The humans certainly seemed to be flourishing as a race. But the magicless, polluted _energy_ of the place felt abrasive to most fae, and Lyre was one of them. He was fond of their clothing though.

The fact that he was here now instead of cocooned in the cozy confines of his little home was entirely Ceithe’s fault. Truly, what kind of fae practically lived among mortals? At least his brother had the sense to have a house in the middle of the middle of nowhere. And Lyre would much rather venture into Europe than visit Ceithe in the company of other Seelie fae.

He knocked on the carved wooden door and waited, curiously gazing about himself. It was a nice house, perhaps a little too big for just one but clearly well-maintained. There was nothing but barren fields as far as the eye could see. The door opened, and Lyre turned around, only to find himself faced with a barely clothed version of his brother. The contrast between the immaculately groomed fae that had called on him a month ago and this messy figure clad only in a pair of skimpy underwear was jarring, to say the least. Lyre fixed his eyes on the other’s face, resolutely keeping his own expression blank.

“Broth-mmph,” he began, and was promptly cut off by the sheer shock of finding himself with a handful of said brother.

Lyre clumsily returned the embrace, standing stiff in the other’s arms while closing his own around the slighter form of Ceithe. Instinctually, he took a deep breath, scenting him. Ceithe smelled of metal and musk and what appeared to be vanilla. Artificial vanilla. Apparently, his twin liked human cosmetics as well.

He secretly sighed in relief when he was released but the brilliant smile that was bestowed on him nudged his own mouth into a little grin.

“You came,” Ceithe breathed, delighted surprise lighting up his face. He looked young and beautiful. Lyre helplessly let his smile grow.

“You said to keep in touch. I figured it was my turn to visit.”

Ceithe only laughed, a hint of incredulity mixed into the sound. “There are no strict rules for this, Lyre. Not that I’m not pleased you’re here. I am. Very pleased. But, well, there is no pressure. You need not feel _obliged_.”

Ah. It appeared he was not the only one flailing about, worried over recent developments.

“Brother, I know we are only getting acquainted but let me assure you that I make a point of not doing anything I do not want to.” Not entirely true. The Unseelie Queen could make him dance on a tightrope if she so wished. Good thing she had better things to do that randomly torment her subjects.

The smile his response evoked in Ceithe was even brighter than the last, which he didn’t realize was possible.

“Well then, let’s not waste time standing here. Come on in.”

As he was unceremoniously tugged inside, Lyre idly noted that even now, devoid of the nervousness that plagued Ceithe during their last meeting and his own less feral state of mind, his brother still felt like _prey_.


	2. Part II: Interludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a filler chapter. Plus it’s pretty short. I promise that the next one is more substantial.

The sudden acquirement of a sibling significantly affected the set rhythm of Lyre’s life. Before, he had floated along on a sea of numb satisfaction, Hunting with fae as bloodthirsty as him, forging when the mood struck him, practicing by his lonesome or sparring with his friends on particularly active days, and spending his hours of relaxation in his secure, isolated cottage, comfortable with his own company. Apart from a handful of friends, the fire dragon Fyr being the only one he had any true attachment to, he did not venture into society. Though he had been raised in the Unseelie Court after his parents denounced him, he felt nothing for the place except a measure of obligation.

It was not what one would call ideal but it worked for him.

But in the months since first meeting Ceithe, something had changed. The old routine no longer felt _enough_. Lyre had fully expected his brother to more or less disappear from his life once the initial excitement of their acquaintance had passed.  He had been wrong, as he tended to be on all things involving Ceithe Silverblade. If anything, the frequency of Ceithe’s visits only increased with each passing month, in direct proportion to Lyre’s enjoyment of his brother’s presence. He had even stepped into the human world quite a few times to seek out the other. They were vastly different, he and Ceithe, but their differences did not hinder their friendship. The early awkwardness faded progressively as warm familiarity took its place.

It was strange, a little surreal and a lot pleasant.

He did not know how wise it was, this rapidly strengthening bond of theirs, but wise or not, he had no intention of losing it, not any time soon and certainly not easily.

* * *

 

It was difficult to not fidget under Fyr’s relentless, impassive stare but Lyre managed, locking his muscles and fixing his own gaze on the iridescent scales covering most of his friend’s face. He didn’t want to meet her eyes and give himself away more than he already had.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Fyr finally said, her husky voice a relief after the unnerving silence, “But I seem to recall you saying, on multiple occasions with remarkable passion, that your blood family could go fuck themselves on Poseidon’s trident for all you cared.”

Torn between a grin and a grimace, Lyre nodded, spreading his hands as if to convey his helplessness. “You’re not wrong,” he mumbled, “It’s not as if as I went looking. _He_ sought _me_ out, Fyr.”

“I assume that is somehow supposed to explain why you are suddenly so taken by the same family you’ve sworn off?”

“I’m not- it’s not the family. I don’t care about them. Just Ceithe.”

He got a huffing laugh in response, smoke curling out of Fry’s nostrils with her breath. “This Seelie twin of yours seem to have charmed you quite well. I never would have imagined it.”

Lyre only shrugged. It was true, oddly enough. Barely a year of knowing each other and he was already used to his brother’s sporadic presence in his life. Moreover, all signs on Ceithe’s part seemed to point out that he was there to stay. Telling it all out loud to Fyr seemed to grant a certain solidity to the last few bizarre months.

“You’re so young, metalmaker,” Fyr quipped, a too sharp smile accompanying the words. He shot her an annoyed glance, unable to refute the statement. He was young by fae standards. And she did have a millennium or three on him.

She didn’t have to rub it in though.

“Quiet, dragon.”                                                           

She bared her teeth at him in what passed for a smile with her. “Best of luck then, to you and your newfound brother.”

This time, Lyre did grin, content with offhand ‘blessing’, and promptly changed the subject.

* * *

 

Lyre was accustomed to walking into an empty house. So naturally, finding another person splayed across his couch with disturbing familiarity upon coming home stopped him dead in his tracks. It was Ceithe. Of course it was. His brother was the only other person keyed into the wards that guarded Lyre’s home. Theoretically, that allowed the Ceithe to walk in at any time and roam about the house, except into the forge which had its own set of even more complicated wards. However, this was the first time Ceithe let himself in. That he did so while Lyre was absent probably did not bode well. Nonetheless, Lyre was pleased to find the other fae here.

“Ceithe,” he greeted, careful not to turn it into a question.

“They know,” was the rather puzzling reply he received.

“I beg your pardon?” Lyre dropped to the chair opposite his brother’s sprawled figure. Ceithe’s expression was half hidden under his arm, which lay across his face, hiding his eyes. His mouth, which was visible, looked pinched.

“Our- my- parents,” he clarified without bothering to look at Lyre. “They know I’m seeing you.”

Ah. That would explain the despair rolling off in waves from his brother.

“I take it they disapprove.”

A bitter chuckle sounded. “Shocking, yes? They asked me if I have lost my mind. Actually, that was the kindest thing they said. So appalling, my behavior. How dare maintain contact with _my own blood brother_.” The last words came out as a rough growl and Lyre blinked, somewhat taken aback by this uncharacteristic aggression.

Ignoring the sudden heaviness in his chest, Lyre rose and walked to the couch, sinking to the floor near Ceithe’s head. Gently, he caught hold of the other’s arm and tugged it out of the way. Midnight eyes blinked up at him, shining with anger.

“I am sorry, brother,” Lyre whispered, raising a hand to cup Ceithe’s cheek.

“No, you have nothing to apologize for. They are prejudiced fools, blind to all but their own outdated views. No law prohibits Seelie and Unseelie from associating, not even if they are not family. The two _Courts_ cooperate with each other! Their disapproval has no basis but their own bigotry.”

Despite everything, Lyre had to duck to hide an inappropriate grin. Ceithe might spent most of his time frolicking in the human world but he was still every inch a Seelie noble. Lyre would have mixed in at least half a dozen curse words in that cute little tirade. The flash humor faded all too quickly, leaving a faintly sick sensation in its wake.

“I suppose this is it then.” His voice sounded brittle even to him. “I am not sure if I’ve expressed it properly but I will forever be grateful that you gave me a chance to know you, brother. Our time seems to have come to an end entirely too soon but perhaps, one day, we’ll see each other again…” His words trailed off uncertainly. The more ruthless part of him mocked him for this foolish attachment to one he had known for only a handful of years, which was merely an instant in the lives of fae. The rest of him simply mourned the imminent loss brother he did not ask for but loved easily and deeply all the same.

Ceithe was looking at him with a frown, mouth parted in confusion.

“What are you- oh you motherfucking idiot!”

Lyre flinched, not certain whether he was more stunned by the vehemence in Ceithe’s voice or the profanity that sat so oddly on his lips.

“You thought I was going to listen to them? Did you not hear a single word I said?”

“They are your parents. I know you care about them so I assumed…” Lyre shrugged, further words failing him.

Without warning, Ceithe pulled him close so that Lyre was lying half on the floor and half atop his brother. A hand sunk into his hair, gripping a fistful, strangely comforting.

“Lyre, I’m not going anywhere. You are my brother and no one is taking you from me. Mother and Father may not approve but that’s their concern, not mine.” A deep breath and then, calmer, “You won’t be rid of me that easily, you know.”

Lyre smiled automatically and raised his head from where it was pressed to Ceithe’s chest. “I will probably never repeat this but I am more glad than you can imagine to hear that.”

Ceithe winked, the despair from earlier no longer tainting his countenance. “Yes, yes, I love you as well.”

Laughing, more from sheer relief than anything else, he burrowed back into Ceithe. Surrounded by his sweet scent and in arms that enfolded him tenderly, Lyre felt a facsimile of the peace that he rarely got to experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I misspelled Fyr twice, once as ‘Nyr’ and then as ‘Fry’. :-| The name only appears 6 times in total…  
> Head, meet Desk.
> 
> Next chapter will probably be up next Friday.


	3. Part III: Stirrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accidents happen, then not-really-accidents happen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn't make this update. This week was full of exams and I've been running about like a bull with its tail on fire. It's over now. Whew. Still, the editing of this was rushed so I apologize for any mistakes you may find.
> 
> This chapter earns the explicit rating.

Lyre may have preferred to visit Ceithe in the human world rather than in Seelie territory, where the chances of running into other Seelie fae was much higher, but that didn't mean he found the abrasive aura of this realm any less frustrating. As if to mock his reticence, his magic had faltered during the crossover, leaving Lyre standing a good distance away from Ceithe's doorstep, which was his actual destination.

Growling softly and cursing the scorching sun that beat down on him, Lyre set off towards the building that loomed a few miles away. Sweat soon drenched his skin, tricking down his face and bare torso. By the time he actually reached the house, most of the liquid in his body was dripping from him. His hair was plastered on his forehead and felt inordinately heavy where it hung down his back. He didn't knock. The door opened at his touch and he made a beeline for the kitchen. By the time he gulped down half a bottle of cold water and wiped off most of the sweat with a cloth, Lyre was almost finished cursing everything that had wronged him that day, from his own depleted magic to the bloody solar system.

He automatically followed the strong beacon of Ceithe's magic, barely seeing where he was going. Too preoccupied with the ongoing tirade in his head, he didn't even notice the much fainter presence in the house. While he may have hesitated before the bedroom door in the past, he hardly bothered now. Ceithe was one of those people who had no grasp on the concept personal space and Lyre wasn't much better with the ones he was close to.

The door opened soundlessly and Lyre found himself frozen in the doorway, staring blankly at what he could see of his brother. His stark naked, sweat slick brother who seemed quite occupied fucking another man- and it was a  _man_ , Lyre wouldn't mistake a human for anything no matter how strange the situation- into the mattress.

It would have been prudent to back away then, close the door and retreat elsewhere. He was a good liar. It would be easy enough to wait downstairs and pretend he had seen nothing. Ceithe would never have to know.

It took all but a moment to consider and disregard the option. Lyre couldn't say exactly what it was that made him lean against the doorway in plain sight of both occupants, watching the vigorous fucking with a curious little half smile. It was not even a sight he was unaccustomed to- it was only his brother's involvement that made things rather jarring.

The human was lying facedown on the bed, ass up in the air, head turned away from the door. Ceithe was on his knees behind the man, gripping his hips and plunging into him with brutal force. A constant stream of moans and grunts and wordless pleas emanated from the two, as raw and graceless as the harsh coupling, and just as luscious.

For some reason, Lyre found himself fixated on Ceithe's face. Surrounded by a tangled mess of black and silver strands, eyes screwed close and teeth bared in an animal snarl, it was feral and beautiful and utterly inhuman. Lyre wet his dry lips unconsciously, mesmerized by the visage that was familiar and yet so alien in that moment. A heat intense enough to rival the blistering sun outside spread through his veins, trapping his breath in his throat and making sweat break along his nape.

It felt oddly natural when Ceithe's eyes snapped open and locked with his own, the surprise in them not quite overtaking mindless pleasure as Ceithe bent over the human and rode out his climax with an incoherent scream.

Lyre remained where he was even when Ceithe collapsed on his lover. He hadn't been paying much attention to the human but from the limp body, he assumed the man had reached his own orgasm. He was a little taken aback when Ceithe touched the man's neck to cast a simple sleep spell while pulling out.

"I didn't know you took human lovers," Lyre remarked idly, meeting Ceithe's incredulous stare with a deliberately casual expression. The heat in his body had yet to abate and he was hyperaware of his own arousal. He pointedly kept his eyes above his brother's neck.

" _You_ -" Ceithe started, gaped, and then finally let out a breathless chuckle, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. "Well, I suppose it didn't come up in conversation." He shook his head, smiling a little too widely, betraying nervousness. "It's insane to try for relationships with them but hey, sex works fine enough. And I appreciate a change."

Lyre nodded complacently, as if the situation was quite normal, and finally withdrew from the doorway, closing the door behind him.

"I'll be in my room," he called out and made his way to the guest room that had become his somewhere along the way. The image of his brother, bare and beautiful, haunted him, flashing behind his lids whenever he closed his eyes. Lyre let out a shuddering breath and resisted the urge to fondle his persistent erection.

When Ceithe later joined him, his human still in spellbound sleep, they did not discuss what transpired. They knew they never would but it lingered in their minds, dark and heady and forbidden.

* * *

Lyre let out an amused huff of laughter when the knocking started. It was a familiar pattern, brisk and ever so slightly impatient. For reasons unknown to anyone but Ceithe, he refused to just barge in while Lyre was inside even though he no longer had any qualms about helping himself to the house when it was empty.

Rising with deliberate slowness from where he was lazing on his bed, Lyre ambled out into the front room and to the door, pausing halfway to stretch out his sore muscles. His last Hunt had been taxing, the quarry a spirited one that refused to lie down and die quietly. Fair enough, all things considered. Lyre would never let himself be bested easily either. And frankly, he had enjoyed the fight at the time.

He opened the door and rudely gawked for a second too long at the figure on the other side. He had seen Ceithe in human attire too many times to count and agreed that it was better than the conservative fashions of the Seelie Court. But the scant leather outfit that clung to his body like a second skin and somehow managed to be far more obscene than blatant nudity was… disconcerting, to say the least.

"I was at a club." Ceithe's voice jolted him out of his trance. Lyre automatically smiled back at the sheepish grin on his brother's face.

Still holding the door, he stepped back enough to allow space for Ceithe to step inside.

He wasn't even paying attention, not really, but the smell hit him anyway, sharp, overpowering and utterly impossible to ignore. Human, fae, musk, skin, sweat and semen. Ceithe was  _soaked_  in it, his natural scent barely discernible under the heavy perfume of stale sex.

Lyre wasn't aware of moving but he must have done so because one moment he was just standing there, hand on the doorknob, and the next, he had his brother all but pinned against the closest wall, the two of them close enough to share breath. Lyre could sense the confusion that radiated off Ceithe, could feel warm leather pressed against his bare skin and the faint tremble in the other's body.

Lyre did not speak, just lowered his head to press his nose into the crook of Ceithe's neck, sucking in gasping gulps of Ceithe's innate fragrance. He rubbed his face against the skin there as if to chase away the alien scents and replace it with his own.

He didn't examine that desire too closely, afraid of what he'd find.

"Lyre?" His name penetrated his cloudy thoughts just as a hand came to rest on the small of his back and another on his hair.

"Sorry," Lyre murmured, without even an ounce of sincerity. "You smell like a stranger. You smell of  _strangers_. It's- I don't like it."

Perhaps if he had enough presence of mind to think, he would have realized how ridiculous that sounded and held the words back, but it was too late and they were out there. But Ceithe's hand only tightened momentarily, painfully in Lyre's golden locks. Lyre lifted his head so he could look at the other but found no anger or censure in the gaze that met his, only amusement and  _something_  that he was not going to inspect too intently.

"I'll go take a shower then," Ceithe told him with a lopsided grin. He didn't, even then, release his hold on Lyre's hair, and they stood like that in a pseudo embrace.

It was Lyre who finally moved away, eyes fixed on Ceithe with a focus usually reserved for his marks. He was vaguely aware of the strangeness of his own actions, of this entire damned situation but he didn't care, not just then.

He watched Ceithe until he disappared into the bedroom and he stayed rooted to the spot until he heard the sound of the shower. Even then, he only barely had the spirit to drag himself to the couch and drop limply on it.

_What am I doing?_

* * *

Lyre grinned, wide and sharp, at his opponent, slinging wet hair out of his eyes in an impatient swoop. He was winded and aching. Bruises were already blooming on his pale skin and bloody but shallow slashes decorated his chest, but it was all so very welcome. He had done nothing more exciting than hunt rabbits in the last week and he  _needed_  this. Several feet in front of him, Ceithe was scowling at him, sporting his own set of livid marks and a split lip.

While Ceithe preferred to make jewelry for the pretentious Seelie courtiers, he was as adept as any metalmaker fae with a sword. Not a match for Lyre but that was only to be expected. Hunting was his profession, after all. They weren't crossing blades now though. No, this was just plain sparring, with hands and legs and claws. And it was  _wonderful_.

With a silent snarl, Ceithe lunged at him, the move lacking his early grace. They'd been at it for some time now and they were tiring. It was easy enough for Lyre to avoid the punch aimed at his solar plexus and tackle his brother, swiping his legs out from under him. Lyre followed Ceithe's startled descent to the ground, straddling him and swiftly pinning both his hands by his sides. He crouched low over the fallen fae's torso, face only a few inches above the other's.

"Yield," he growled.

Lyre was aware he was grinning wildly, his breath coming out in harsh pants. His blood was rushing in his ears and he was  _high_  on victory. A sort of savage pleasure unfurled inside of him at the sight of Ceithe under him, trapped and wide-eyed and taut as a bow string, fathomless black eyes staring at Lyre with piercing intensity. Caught in that gaze and the haze of adrenalin, Lyre didn't notice the telltale hardness nestled against his ass until- well, until he became aware of his own very obvious erection.

 _Shit_ , he thought with something akin to panic and shifted helplessly, freezing on spot when Ceithe moaned at the movement. A small, throaty, barely audible sound that had Lyre leaning forward, his nose nearly touching Ceithe's. In a matter of seconds, the euphoria of winning was lost to the crackling, writhing tension that sprang up between them.

_What am I doing? What the fuck are we doing?_

"I'm sorry," Ceithe gasped out, his voice quivering in a way that had nothing to do with fear or disgust and everything to do with plain old arousal.

"Noth-nothing to apologize for," Lyre replied, not sounding any better than Ceithe. "It's just the fight. We," he chuckled, strained and humorless, "I think we both got a bit too wound up."

And then, because they had not dug a hole deep enough already, Lyre bent down further to nose at Ceithe's neck, his favorite spot to scent his brother. It was impossible to resist when Ceithe smelled like this, everything about him enhanced by the fight. Just then, Ceithe's wrists twisted in their twin prisons, a helpless, hopeless and entirely instinctual bid for freedom, and Lyre had to physically clamp his jaws shut to avoid sinking his teeth into the pulse beating frantically right under his lips. He tightened his hold instead, gripping Ceithe hard enough to grind bone together, and he drank in the distressed little noise Ceithe made with unholy relish, everything dark and animalistic inside him surging with violent joy.

"Do I still smell like prey?" Ceithe asked huskily with a hint of laughter in his tone. Lyre rose with a final deep breath, felt Ceithe's member brush and grow harder even through their respective clothing.

"Yes," he hissed. He didn't add that it was no longer Ceithe's doing but Lyre's own growing hunger for his brother.

Almost against his will, Lyre ground down, chasing after whatever stimulation he could get and grinding back against Ceithe's cock in the process. Ceithe bucked up, a ragged groan escaping him. Lyre tightened his already too-tight grip on Ceithe's wrists.

Then, in a move that took whatever willpower he had and then some, he threw himself off Ceithe, because otherwise, he would  _rut_  like a mindless beast against the welcoming warmth of the body underneath him, uncaring that it belonged to his  _brother_.

He resolutely crushed the little voice that tried to chime that it did matter that Ceithe was his brother, just not in the way it should.

"Lyre?" Ceithe called shakily, sitting up while alternately rubbing his abused wrists.

"I'm sorry," Lyre said with a nod to Ceithe's wrists.

"It happens," Ceithe answered, frustratingly cryptic.  _What_  happens? Injuries in a fight? Yes. Incestuous almost-sex in that aftermath? Not really, no. Yet, when Lyre looked at Ceithe, he wanted nothing more than to push him back until he was spread out beneath Lyre and looking at him with such a beautifully tortured expression-

"I think we should go to our homes. And cool, off."

Ceithe nodded in acquiescence. His face was still flushed, but no longer from the spar.

"This is going to be another one of those things we're not going to talk about isn't it?" Ceithe asked, not seeming to expect an answer as he picked himself off the ground.

"Yes," Lyre breathed, closing his eyes, "I suppose it is."

His blood still burned and behind his lids, he saw midnight eyes glowing with desire.

* * *

Lyre fought back the urge to squirm in his seat, using the self-restraint that he did actually possess in spite of plenty evidence to the contrary, particularly when his brother was involved. The same brother who was currently sprawled across the couch, dozing with his head nestled comfortably in Lyre's lap. Valiantly, Lyre tried to focus on the book he was attempting to read and failed spectacularly, as expected. He did not know Ceithe could just calmly  _sleep_  while it was all Lyre could do to hold back from doing something he would regret.

Such as molest his unsuspecting companion.

The gradual realization that he wanted to fuck Ceithe was not so much appalling as it was absolutely confounding. Because he truly had not seen the signs until they'd grown too obvious to be ignored. Even he didn't know exactly when this unfortunate attraction had first bloomed, when the decidedly platonic love he felt had become tangled with a ferocious lust that nearly frightened him. Ceithe's attitude helped little. Nothing that had occurred- Lyre's inadvertent voyeurism, that telling last sparring session, a number of other such 'incidents'- seemed to even affect the damn creature. If anything, he showed up more frequently and invaded Lyre's personal space with an utter lack of aggression that was no less frustrating for it. Their present predicament being an excellent example.

Lyre pursed his lips together as Ceithe turned to press his face to Lyre's thigh, seemingly oblivious to the torment he was inflicting on his hapless brother. Lyre almost growled. Ceithe would have to be either blind or a fool to be that oblivious, and he was neither.

He finally put his book aside, tired of glaring at the same page. What were they doing, truly? It was not morality that impeded Lyre. After all, he was Unseelie and proud of it. An absent, or severely skewed at the very least, moral compass was their defining characteristic. And if Ceithe had been repulsed by whatever was going on between them, he would not have hesitated to bring it up or eschew Lyre's company or both. Yet they seemed to be playing a game instead. An eerie game with abstract rules neither of them really understood. It was all so strange.

As if in reply to the questions running rampant in Lyre's mind, Ceithe sighed and  _nuzzled_  into the thigh he was using for a pillow, sending a bolt of fire straight to Lyre's cock.

Lyre watched, with curious detachment, as his hand moved, lifting from his lap to rest lightly atop Ceithe's head. A gentle touch, normal and safe. He was behaving rather well, in his opinion, as all he wanted in that moment was to grab a handful of that soft dark hair, shove Ceithe to his knees on the floor, and thrust his cock into his mouth. But once he started, he couldn't find the will to stop and Lyre started combing through the other's hair, running the soft, feathery strands through his fingers, watching hard silver glint among the black with hypnotic fascination. Ceithe sighed again.

He captured a thick tress of silver softly between his thumb and forefinger. It wasn't hair, for all that it grew from their scalp, nor was it any metal normally found. It was a lot like steel but brighter, stronger and wielded solely by a few metalmaker clans. The hardness and coolness of it was always odd against regular hair. He would know, considering how he dealt with it daily amidst his own thick mane of bright blonde hair.

It was also extraordinarily sensitive.

Lyre tugged lightly at it, applying only the faintest of pressure, and Ceithe gasped, his body going rigid. Lyre tugged harder. He let go of the strands to bury both hands in Ceithe's hair, alternating between softly massaging the scalp and caressing metal locks. Ceithe readily pushed into the ministrations, sighing and moaning, squirming distractingly on the limited surface of the couch.

"Lyre…" he hissed out but Lyre ignored the reluctant warning in favor of continuing. His eyes locked with Ceithe's half-lidded ones when his brother turned to lie on his back. There was muted heat in that shielded gaze and his lips were wet and parted, his breath faster. Perspiration lined his upper lip. Unable to stop himself, Lyre's eyes snapped to the telltale bulge in Ceithe's pants. Extraordinarily sensitive indeed.

He scraped his nails along the base of one clump of metal strands and smiled when Ceithe arched into the touch, one hand twitching in an aborted movement towards his crotch.

"Go on," Lyre told him, with a calmness he was surprised to be feeling. "Touch yourself."

A sharp intake of air was his only answer as Ceithe stared at him, eyes now wide open and gleaming.

"Do it," he prompted, idly grabbing a handful of hair and metal and pulling, just sharp enough to let Ceithe feel it. His brother twitched and with a breathless chuckle reached down to palm himself through his clothing. Lyre watched, his own breath stuck in his throat, as Ceithe hastily shoved his pants down his hips and freed his cock, which was almost all the way hard and leaped gladly into his touch. It was a lovely organ, long and slender, flushed a lovely red that begged to be touched and kissed and worshipped.

He didn't know he had tightened his hold on Ceithe until his brother let out a pained little groan. He didn't ease up though, focused instead on watching Ceithe's hand move over his shaft, hard and fast, his hips moving into the tight grip.

"No, slower," Lyre ordered, yanking at his fistful so that Ceithe bent to the touch, his neck curving at an inviting angle. "Make it last."

Cursing under his breath, Ceithe obeyed, reducing his furious pace to something less punishing. Lyre could see a pearly drop of precome at the tip and was seized by the urge to catch it on his tongue, to know Ceithe's  _taste_. But he didn't, contenting himself by loosely wrapping one hand around his brother's throat, thumb pressed to the pulse that fluttered violently there. They were dancing on that fine line they had been edging around until now. To kneel between the other's thighs and swallow down his cock would be a definite crossing… and neither of them was ready for that. Not yet.

So he just watched, mesmerized and aroused, as Ceithe brought himself off with long, efficient strokes, all the while squirming and making such sweet noises that made his throat quiver under Lyre's palm. It was an instant and an eternity later that Ceithe came with a choked cry, his body going rigid while his release painted his hand. And it was under the grip of pure, mindless lust that Lyre let go of his brother and leaned over to run a single finger through the sticky mess, coating his finger in viscous white liquid that he slowly, deliberately brought to Ceithe's lips. It was his turn to groan as Ceithe instantly opened his mouth and drew in the digit, tongue working frantically, licking and sucking. When he finally let go of the cleaned finger, Lyre rested it for a moment on Ceithe's mouth, tracing its contours with something like longing.

"I should clean up," Ceithe said a few minutes. He sounded too calm for it to be real.

"Of course."

Ceithe got up and left the room without once looking at Lyre, who couldn't have looked away even if he wanted to. Closing his eyes, he grabbed his own straining cock through his pants and squeezed,  _hard_ , huffing out a rough panting breath as pain laced through him. It took the edge off. Lyre wasn't about to jerk off. He didn't know why but he just wasn't.

Ceithe returned before long in a fresh set of clothes. There was a telling lack of expression on his face and Lyre, once again, couldn't take his eyes off him.

"You keep looking at me like that," Ceithe said after a long moment had passed. His voice was low and husky.

"Like what?" Lyre himself sounded hoarse.

"Like you want to devour me."

Lyre automatically began to deny that and then paused. It was… true.

He  _wanted_  Ceithe. He wanted to rip him open, crawl inside, possess him and own him. It was not mere carnal desire, though there was plenty of that too. But he craved, he hungered for everything, for  _all_  of his brother; body, heart, mind and soul.

"Perhaps I do." The words were barely more than a murmur but they both heard them loud and clear.

"I might let you," Ceithe replied equally softly.

His brother just stood there, blank faced, staring at Lyre with blistering intensity. He seemed strangely expectant, as if he were waiting for Lyre to do something. But vexed and bemused, Lyre only sat there, entranced by the still figure of the other fae and caught in the webs of his own savage desire.

In the end, Ceithe pursed his lips, shook his head once and left.

Lyre didn't stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand thanks to the wonderful people who're reading this, especially those who reviewed, favorite-ed and followed.
> 
> This is my favorite chapter, for some strange reason...  
> Final chapter will be up on Dec 7.


	4. Culmination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I’d update on Monday but life interfered in the form of a sad lack of internet. Sorry!
> 
> Featuring a rather manipulative Ceithe and a rather oblivious Lyre. And sex. About 95% of this chapter is sex.

**PART FOUR: CULMINATION**

                                                                                                        

For what felt like an eternity but was in actuality only a few weeks, Ceithe vanished from Lyre’s life. There were no more visits, whether brief or long, no traces of his Seelie energy in Lyre’s home when he returned from a Hunt. The couple of times Lyre had thrown patience to the wind and went to the human realm, he had found only an empty house.

Lyre knew, intellectually, that he should have expected this. Their last encounter had been highly unusual and the aftermath uncomfortable, to say the least. But he nonetheless found himself vexed and restless in those weeks, plagued by a myriad of perplexing emotions. And amongst the confusion, frustration, concern and longing was an unexpected strain of anger, which only grew stronger and more prominent as the days passed. He was not angry at his brother, or at least he tried not to be, with limited success. Most of it was directed at himself but it soon bled out into everything and anything, making him irritable and impatient. He frequently alternated between picturing scenarios where he apologized to Ceithe, though what he was going to apologize for was still a mystery, and ones where he pinned him to the nearest flat surface and resumed what they’d started, what they had been circling around for _so long_.

He didn’t entirely understand the reason behind Ceithe’s sudden silence either. Awkward or not, nothing that had happened that evening had been against his brother’s will. If the brief conversation that had followed was any indication, Ceithe had been the opposite of displeased with what had happened. So, _why_?

Perhaps it was slightly immature of him but Lyre felt as if was being punished for an offense he was unsure of and it made him increasingly angry. Furious.

And that anger was only somewhat tempered by nervous anticipation when he finally head that familiar knock on his door and felt the familiar presence pulsing just outside after over a month of absence.

He stalked to the door and yanked it open. Ceithe stood before him, dressed in human clothes, face cast down and half hidden underneath his long hair. He looked disheveled and his eyes, when he finally deigned to glance up at Lyre through his lashes, were suspiciously bright.

“Inside,” Lyre bit out and turned on his heels to walk back, except that he couldn’t make himself go far. He stopped just short of leaving the foyer and waited as Ceithe closed the door and approached him. A light touch to his back made him whip around and he opened his mouth to tear into Ceithe… only to freeze on spot as Ceithe’s condition truly struck him.

This was the second time Ceithe came to him smelling of sex and strangers but it was different this time; the alien, fae scent _cloaked_ his brother, mingling with musk and sweat to leave no doubt as to precisely what Ceithe had been doing not too long ago.

It took all of an instant for Lyre to lose whatever frail remnants of restraint he had left.

Whatever it was that Ceithe saw on his face, he could do little more than utter a startled exclamation that was cut off when Lyre fell upon him, sinking possessive hands into dark hair and covering his mouth in a rough, graceless kiss, all rage and hunger. There was no tenderness to it, for all that it was their first kiss. Teeth clashed and lips bruised as Lyre held the other in place and devoured him, thrusting his tongue past Ceithe’s lips to taste and take. Ceithe merely clung to him, stunned but pliant. Lyre pulled back to take a breath and reorient himself, the blank haze that had descended on his mind the moment he scented another on Ceithe starting to recede to let reason slip through. But even the faintest stirrings of coherent thought were driven away yet again at the picture his brother made. Pressed tight to Lyre’s body, Ceithe looked up at him with dazed eyes, reddened lips parted in rapid pants. His normally fair skin was flushed a pretty, pretty pink.

Why on earth had he waited this long?

Lyre kissed him again, just as passionate as before but less frantic. He licked and nipped at soft lips, sliding his tongue in deep, rubbing and teasing against Ceithe’s, feeling the sharp thrill of victory as he finally began responding, clutching even tighter at Lyre. It was wonderful and stimulating but far from enough. As delicious as his brother tasted, Lyre wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to devour Ceithe, just like he’d said that charged night; he wanted to taste him and fuck him and bleed him, etch his marks onto Ceithe’s skin and soul so there would be no doubt that he was belongedto Lyre.

He broke away and more or less ran to the bedroom, dragging Ceithe along, not that he was struggling. A stranger’s stench stubbornly clung to Ceithe, infuriating Lyre.

“We are brothers,” Ceithe said when Lyre let him go. The meaning of his words took a moment to penetrate Lyre’s skull, distracted as he was by Ceithe’s swollen red mouth. Lyre shot him an incredulous look and pointedly looked between at the twin bulges tenting their pants.

“I’m beginning to doubt that was ever an obstacle.”                                                                                           

Ceithe only grinned in response, the expression strangely sharp.

“Strip.” It was entrancing to watch Ceithe comply so readily, peeling off the fabric that hugged the graceful lines of his body with uncharacteristically clumsy fingers. Lyre quickly cast off his customary drawstring pants, letting out a faint moan as his hard shaft was freed of its confines. He returned his focus to the other fae. Ceithe stood bare and flushed before him, one palm cupping his erect cock. His smoldering gaze was riveted on Lyre.

Moving with a swiftness born of both practice and sheer want, Lyre lunged for Ceithe, grabbing him and throwing him to the bed. He wasted no time following, covering Ceithe with his own body so they were pressed tight together, chest to chest, cock to cock.

“I want this scent off you,” Lyre hissed fervently, rubbing his cheek against Ceithe’s.

“Then I suppose you should get rid of it,” Ceithe answered, turning his head nip lightly at Lyre. Without warning, he gripped Lyre’s hips and bucked up, their cocks sliding together with torturous fiction. Lyre growled low in his throat and lifted off his brother, crouching over him instead. His shook his head when the other reached for him.

“No. Be still. Hands at your side.”

Ceithe gave him a surprised look but listened, albeit slowly and reluctantly. Lyre smiled, sharp enough to cut metal, and lightly rested his hands just above Ceithe’s hips, only his fingertips touching skin. His nails, formed of the same metal that twined along his hair, elongated, their pointed tips pressing into Ceithe’s supple flesh. He heard a sharp gasp but didn’t look up. He dug in his nails till they pierced through the flimsy barrier of skin, pinpricks of bright red blooming. Then slowly, deliberately, he drew his hands up Ceithe’s body, eight thin lines of blood trailing in their wake.

Lyre didn’t know if it was obedience or simply shock that made Ceithe remain motionless, and neither did he care. All he had eyes for were the beautiful marks scoured into his brother’s otherwise flawless skin by _him_. Lyre relentlessly scratched his way up to Ceithe chest and only when the razor-sharp ends of nails drew close to the hard nubs of his nipples did Ceithe react, and only then to utter an alarmed cry, trying in vain to squirm away. Lyre laughed, delighted, but it was only blunt metal that dragged over the sensitive buds, not sharpened points. Ceithe’s answering shudder sent a jolt of sensation to his groin.

“You belong to me,” Lyre said quietly, a simple statement that nevertheless belayed the proprietary heat that lay within.

Ceithe bared his teeth at him. One of his hands was now tracing the bloodied cuts, pressing down at random areas.

“Then _make_ me yours. Scent and a few easily healed scratches aren’t enough, Lyre.”

Needing no further invitation and smiling at the obvious provocation, Lyre bent down to lick his way down Ceithe’s throat, tasting salt and flesh. Supporting himself with one forearm on the mattress, he reached down, fingers ghosting over the other’s cock and drawing a strangled gasp, before reaching down and under to brush the puckered entrance. The rage and frustration that had been chased off by desire returned with a vengeance when his fingers touched an unusually relaxed hole, the edges of it still wet from what he assumed was prior activity.

Ceithe spread his legs and pushed into the touch, but his face was set into an insolent smirk. He looked steadily at Lyre with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Bastard,” Lyre hissed low and dark, unceremoniously shoving two fingers inside Ceithe, who reared up with a shout. Inside, he was loose and vaguely slick. A sudden image flashed in his mind, of Ceithe on his hands and knees, getting fucked by the nameless, faceless fae whose scent Lyre had so determinedly replaced with his own. He roughly hooked and scissored his fingers, glaring down at Ceithe who bucked and twisted, eyes screwed shut. Pulling out his fingers, ignoring Ceithe’s protesting whine, Lyre moved to a kneeling position. He grabbed Ceithe’s legs and folded him in half, exposing his opening.

“I suppose this does save us some time,” Lyre said with deceptive lightness and held that midnight gaze for a loaded moment before plunging right in, all the way to the hilt, parting his lips in a hoarse cry as sleek tightness engulfed his length. Ceithe’s answering scream was raw and long. He thrashed on the bed, in Lyre’s restraining hold. Unsheathed claws shredded the sheets.

Painfully aware that he was too caught up in years’ worth of lust and longing to last, Lyre set a hard pace, thrusting in and out of his brother with deep strokes, lost to anything but the bliss of pulsing heat along his cock and the sweetly tortured sounds torn out of Ceithe. His eyes, which had slipped close, opened a fraction just in time to see Ceithe reaching for his own erection. Lyre wrapped a hand over Ceithe’s, quickly, roughly pumping that hard flesh in time with his uncontrolled thrusts.

Moments or centuries may have passed when Lyre’s release rushed out of him, taking all thought and sense, leaving him swimming blind in an ocean of bone wrenching pleasure. Ceithe’s ass clamped down around his spasming cock, hot come splashing their entwined hands.

Lyre slowly pulled out, wincing as he slipped free and collapsed beside Ceithe, his head coming to rest on the other’s chest. They were both panting, their breaths audible in the ringing silence of the room. Lyre raised a trembling hand and laid it on his brother’s stomach, drawing senseless patterns in the cooling semen.

“Ceithe?”

A hand came to rest on his head, heavy and pleasant.

“I’m here.” Ceithe sounded drowsy, voice vague and thick with sleep. Lyre hummed an acknowledgement and closed his own eyes, allowing the welcome numbness of sleep to take him over.

* * *

Some restful hours later, Lyre woke wrapped Ceithe, holding him tight as if to prevent him from escaping. He smiled at the unlikely image and just lay there, disinclined to move so much as an inch. He was satisfyingly worn out, and not even the bits of dried semen sticking to his skin could ruin his mood.

He idly played with a strand of Ceithe’s hair, searching deep inside himself for any belated reactions to falling into bed with his twin. After all, there was considerable difference between lusting after his brother and the actual fulfillment of that lust. Thankfully, he found nothing other than a warm satisfaction that seemed to saturate even the darkest corners of his mind. This new development- though he didn’t know if it could be called new when it had been growing and building like a storm for so very long- seemed to fit in snugly with the messy mass of love, affection and possessiveness Ceithe roused in him.

Lyre didn’t even bother hypothesizing about whether or not things would be different had they grown up together, as they should have in an ideal reality free of age old biases. There was no point. Such a life would have found them as creatures vastly different that what they were now. Romantic and sexual relationships between blood relations were not exactly common among fae but neither was it taboo like with humans. It was just something that existed on the fringes of propriety. Lyre’s only concern was how this aspect of things would translate into their already odd dynamics.

The slow, lazy motions of Ceithe’s body in his arms drew him out of his spinning thoughts. Lyre glanced down and saw that Ceithe was still quite asleep, though certain parts of him were clearly not, evident in the way he rubbed his groin into the mattress, the movement causing his ass to slide tantalizingly along Lyre’s eagerly responding cock.

Swiftly stripped of all serious thought, Lyre ground against the other, pleased sighs escaping him. He let his hands roam the plateau of Ceithe’s body, with just a little more patience than he’d shown yesterday. The scratches he had left had already faded into thin, raised lines. As much as he appreciated fae healing, he felt a flare of irritation at the loss. He had loved seeing Ceithe wear his marks. Reaching down, he fondled Ceithe’s erection and was rewarded with a husky sound. Without looking, he knew his brother had woken. There was a sudden awareness to the body half-buried under him.

He rolled off Ceithe and tugged him until they were lying face to face. Ceithe smiled at him. There was a startling innocence to his sleepy grin and half-closed eyes. Lyre pulled him close and into a kiss, chaste and sweet in stark contrast to the way the move pressed their hard lengths blissfully close. Lyre closed his eyes and gave himself over to the rhythm of it, sharing soft, close-lipped kisses with Ceithe as they rubbed and slid and ground against each other. They flowed with the pleasure instead of chasing after it, slowly and sweetly rising to the peak, and finally bursting apart simultaneously with wordless cries.

“Why did we wait so long?” Lyre murmured once he could speak.

Ceithe scoffed, all but rolling his eyes. “Because you were a fool.”

Lyre didn’t respond to the statement, mostly because he did not yet know its full implications. He had a good idea though. But contemplating that idea would inevitably involve admitting that he had been a blind fool indeed and he was in no hurry to do that.

He sighed happily and lowered his head to nuzzle at the spot where Ceithe’s neck met his shoulder and, without so much as a warning nip, bit down hard into the firm flesh there. His sharp teeth tore deep, the salt and copper taste flooding his mouth sweet enough to rival the shuddering scream from his brother. Lyre sucked hard, tonguing the wound with vehemence and didn’t relent until Ceithe was writhing against him and whispering broken pleas amidst plaintive whimpers.

He drew back, licking his bloody lips and smiled with satisfaction at the ragged mark left in his wake.

“You insane, possessive-” That was all Ceithe had time to say before Lyre caught his mouth in a sloppy kiss, sharing his taste with him.

Ceithe was smiling that familiar lopsided smile when they parted, fond exasperation painting his features. Lyre traced his face with a finger, drawing abstract patterns while admiring the dazzling beauty of it. He didn’t even realize when he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke again, he was alone on the bed, the covers beside him still warm and stained with his brother’s blood.

And near the edge of the bed, the dark red stains had been manipulated into three words.

_Find me tonight_.

* * *

Lyre was irritable and high strung by the time night fell. It was no new occurrence for Ceithe to spend the night and vanish in the morning before Lyre rose. However, those times had not been preceded by two bouts of vigorous fucking. That changed matters significantly. Even the brisk message Ceithe had left did little to assuage his growing ire. Crossing over to the human realm, where he could vaguely sense his brother’s distinctive presence, did not improve his mood.

He tracked the elusive energy signature to a building that seemed to be crawling with mortals, most of them young and loud. Lyre surmised from his own limited knowledge of humans and Ceithe’s intermittent rants about the place that this was a club. And he had to go inside to get to Ceithe. He grimaced in distaste.

It was easy enough to get inside, a simple glamour hiding him from the eyes of the long queue of young ones and the large men on either side of the sole entrance. It was easier still to spot his brother, despite how the deafening blast of music inside abused Lyre’s ears. He found Ceithe near the far end of the large room, surrounded by half-clothed human bodies writhing and grinding to the thunderous song. And it only took one look at the way his brother swayed amongst the others, his undulating back to Lyre, for him to lose all shreds of patience he had retained. Curiosity and dread disappeared as Lyre cut through the mass of bodies, instinctively baring his teeth in a grin that was more snarl than smile.

Though Ceithe must have known he was there, he gave no indication of it until Lyre closed in, and only reacted with a breathless gasp when Lyre grabbed him by the elbow and extended his glamour to cover them both. He dragged his brother to the wall, pushing him against in and caging him with palms pressed to either side of his head. Ceithe looked at him steadily, his eyes blazing with heat and challenge. His breathing was ever so slightly faster and perspiration dotted his forehead.

He was not so daft that he did not realize exactly what Ceithe was doing.

But that diminished neither the covetous jealousy nor the searing flood of want that assaulted him the second his gaze fell on the black clad body, a god among mortals, almost literally.

He pressed close till his mouth was scant inches from the other’s, their breaths mingling together. Lyre felt like he was drowning. He whisked them both away from the overcrowded space and to his home in a desperate pulse of power, before he did something drastic like fuck Ceithe against the damned wall.

He took them directly into his cottage on the cliff, bypassing his wards with a wispy strand of power. He wasted no time shoving Ceithe face first into the wall, pinning him there with his body. Lips at his brother’s ear, Lyre spoke, the words low and raspy.

“How do you think this whimsical game of yours will end, brother?” Ceithe tensed against him, experimentally pushing back a little. Lyre pushed him closer to the wall. “Sssh, steady there.  Actions have consequences, Ceithe. I think yours will leave with you with a hoarse throat and a sore ass.” The words were light in tone, almost playful, but Ceithe shuddered in his arms, a faint sound escaping him.

Lyre was taken back when Ceithe abruptly began struggling, pushing back against him with surprising force. If it weren’t for the distinct tang of arousal saturating the air, Lyre would have thought he was sincerely trying to break away. He wasn’t sure if it would’ve made a difference. He was Unseelie. Morals meant little to them.

Locking his arms tight around the twisting form of his brother, Lyre snarled, “Ah yes, fight me. I promise you, I’ll enjoy it.”

Not that it was much of a struggle. While Ceithe was hardly weak, Lyre was rather experienced in subduing troublesome fae, and for far less fun reasons. He allowed the pseudo struggle to go on for a few minutes, all the while enjoying the way their bodies pressed and rubbed with each movement, the shift of Ceithe’s firm muscles and their rising lust. He was hard to the point of pain.

Finally, with a breathless laugh, he grabbed Ceithe by the neck and thrust him urgently to the wall, his other hand raking across his thin shirt with metal-tipped claws, easily slitting the fabric and drawing blood at a point or two. Ceithe went limp as suddenly as he had begun fighting and Lyre caught him around the waist, pressing against his back to bury his face at Ceithe’s nape and breathe him in. He let out a shaky moan.

There was a disorientating lurch and all of a sudden, it was Lyre pinned to the wall, a hot and heavy weight holding him fast. Before he could recover from the sheer surprise of it, Ceithe was tearing at his pants, smoothing a warm palm along his ass, and Lyre automatically pushed into the touch.

“Will you enjoy this as well?” Ceithe asked him but he barely heard the words, too focused on the lone finger that probed his entrance none too gently, sending a quiver up his spine. He drew his breath to say… _something_ but only a half-gasp, half-grunt fell from his lips. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Ceithe told him, a hint of amusement in his unusually rough voice. Just the tip of his finger dipped inside Lyre, the dry entry dragging a groan from him. Lyre forced his addled brain to actually consider the situation. It was unexpected, yes, but not exactly unwelcome. It had been some time since he had been on the receiving end, a decade at least. Worked up and feral as they both obviously were, it would not be a gentle coupling. The thought only made him push back insistently at Ceithe.

How quickly circumstances reversed.

Lyre positioned himself with hands raced on the wall, ass thrust out. The answering hiss from Ceithe made him smile. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see Ceithe spit onto his palm and coat his cock- his pants had been pushed down at some point- which was already leaking precome. Lyre hung his head down and held his breath at the initial pressure at his hole. It grew and grew and grew until the head popped inside. It burned, a steady, merciless throb of pain that drew noise after strangled noise from him. Ceithe didn’t stop though, pressing inexorably deeper, sliding inch by inch, the friction impossible, until he was seated snugly inside Lyre. Sweat mixed with involuntary tears on Lyre’s face. He tasted salt.

Supporting himself on one forearm, Lyre reached down to take himself in hand. He was as rigid as a rock, the pain only serving to enhance the pleasure. He shuddered and arched when Ceithe began thrusting in long, deep strokes. Lyre worked his cock to the rhythm, squeezing his eyes close. There were no words, just gasps and groans and heaving cries. Lyre felt each relentless drag of Ceithe’s cock inside him down to his bones, waves of fire spreading from his core with each stroke of hand and cock. Thoughts blurred into white noise. He only _felt_.

Lyre came first, ripples of ecstasy tearing through his body and mind in time with each pulse of his cock. He keened, cutting the sound off by sinking teeth into the tender flesh of his lip. His knees buckled and he crumpled, only to be caught and held upright by Ceithe who continued to thrust with a rapidly faltering rhythm, the jerks of his hips turning harder and more brutal until he was slamming inside Lyre. The assault was the most exquisite torment on his sensitized passage. Lyre cried out in sympathy as Ceithe emptied into him with a guttural cry, his arms tightening to the point of pain around Lyre.

They both slid to the floor, somehow arranging themselves in a version of an embrace. Ceithe’s now soft length was still mostly inside him. They didn’t talk, though they clearly needed to. They just rested, entwined and sated, the pleasant exhaustion of their bodies allowing them to put aside chaotic thoughts for a few more precious moments.

* * *

When the silence turned from companionable to pensive, Lyre rose and quickly, quietly went to clean himself. He carefully did not look at Ceithe. When he returned, Ceithe was in the bedroom, dressed in one of Lyre’s pants and pacing.

“It would do us both some good to talk this out,” Lyre said, his voice utterly calm in contrast to the maelstrom inside.

Ceithe turned around with a faint grimace and nodded.

“You’re right.”

A loud silence fell.

Lyre moved to the bed and sat rather gingerly. His ass was sore in the best way. He watched his brother, running eyes over his flat stomach and lean muscles with automatic appreciation. He tried to imagine being denied that beautiful body and the even more beautiful mind that rode it, and felt a sharp shot of terror, dark and sickening. It simply wasn’t an option.

“I can see why we haven’t tried this before,” Ceithe finally said with a wry smile. “We are far better at communicating with our bodies.”

Lyre agreed only too much.  Gathering the courage that had never failed him before, he took the plunge.

“I was worried, in the beginning, that you would be offended by my… desire. I understood later that there was no need but in all fairness, you showed no indication of what you felt.”

Ceithe actually snorted and came by to sit on the floor, right beside Lyre’s legs.

“I wanted you long before you wanted me, brother. Or perhaps before you realized you wanted me.”

“So you decided to play games.” It was not a question and Lyre felt no anger about it, merely bemusement.

“Well. You Unseelie are not the only ones allowed to toy with others.” No, that was a general fae characteristic. “And you have no idea how _frustrated_ I was towards the end. Reluctant to upset our precious balance and burning with need for more.”

“I can imagine,” Lyre replied mildly, smiling. He’d been there too. “No more games, brother. It took all of my control not to raze that little club to the ground. Next time, I will not be so gracious.”

Ceithe reached over to grip Lyre’s calf in a reassuringly tight grip. “We’re past the games now, I believe.” He turned an impish grin at Lyre. “That said, I’m rather looking forward to seeing the entirety of your nature unleashed.”

“That would end with one or both of us bloody and battered.” One of them had to be reasonable, though Lyre’s cock objected to that principle, swelling with blood against his thigh. Ceithe eyed it, grin turning absolutely filthy.

“Oh, good.”

There wasn’t much to say to that.

Lyre absently stroked the other’s hair, sorting through the tangles and recalling a drastically different episode of similar nature. He hardened further.

“I will not share,” he somberly voiced the thought that had been nagging him for some time now. “I know we fae are promiscuous by nature but I won’t share. Not you.”

In one smooth movement, Ceithe shifted to his knees, turning around to face Lyre. He looked up at him with heavy lidded eyes.

“I share the sentiment.”

Lyre pulled him up and into a kiss, lips bruising and drawing blood. Predictably, there was no talking for some time after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like the story as an ebook(pdf), here’s the link: [Forged In Blood](http://www40.zippyshare.com/v/5shFUF7y/file.html)  
> Credit to my dear friend Vic for the cover. Ain’t she amazing?
> 
> I’m sorry if the ending feels abrupt. Actually, I fear that the whole damn thing feels abrupt because of the format. I might revise this story sometime in the future, but for now this is it. All my love to the amazing people who lent me their support. :3 I was worried as fuck that no one would read this, and each hit, review, follow and favorite (hit, comment and kudos) warms my heart. Thank you.
> 
> I’ll be back soon-ish with **The Serpent and The Hound** (a tragic romance story that’s a little bit longer than this), as soon as I finish it.  
>  Feedback is love!

**Author's Note:**

> This story is written in several ‘snippets’, with time gaps of varying lengths between each one. There will be four chapters, with the last two being about twice as long the first two. 
> 
> English is my second language and while I do have a beta/soundboard/emotional-crutch to read these over and check for continuity errors and such, English is her second language as well. I’m rather paranoid about grammatical and structural errors, so if any kind soul out there is interested in editing, please send me a mail. 
> 
> irina.s.frost@gmail.com


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